


Drunk and Dreary

by toothgremlin



Category: Hulu's The Great - Fandom, The Great (TV 2020), The Great - Fandom, The Great-Fandom
Genre: Drunk Orlo, F/M, Female Reader, Serf Reader, Slow Burn, Virgin Orlo, idrk yet, reader is coming out of her cage and she's doing just fine, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24993781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toothgremlin/pseuds/toothgremlin
Summary: If Orlo and Velementov had gotten drunk in Velementov’s apartments instead of Orlo's
Relationships: Count Orlo/Reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> @thegreatfanblog on tumblr.com  
> please don't repost without consent. thanks!

Lords and Ladies, especially those of the court of Peter, never seemed to settle down. Even at night would they make request after request of the palace servants, whether it be more pillows for their back, need for a late night snack, or a hefty amount of lube (a memorable occasion involving an orgy and a carrot), servants were needed at all hours of the night.

Which brought you to the present moment: your job for the night was to walk up and down the hall that housed General Velementov, among others, and simply wait for instruction should it be necessary. You were to do this for around 6 more hours as your shift had begun at 12 a.m. and would last until 6 a.m., regretfully. You had indeed picked the short stick tonight, as the General had a habit of coming onto any pretty face his eyes could see, especially when drunk.

And so you were walking. Up and down the long hall as the palace entered the thick of the night, its sturdy floors illuminated by soft candlelight and translucent moonlight. The palace itself was quite gorgeous when you allowed yourself to ponder it. When you weren’t working your back out, or having said back whipped to pieces, the environment you found yourself in wasn’t unpleasant at all when you took away its inhabitants.

“Fuck,” a voice further in front of you mumbled. It seemed like a night without said inhabitants was not in the cards for you. 

You find Count Orlo leaning against a wall, a candlestick gripped tight in hand as if it would steady himself. The man's eyes were intensely unfocused, and his legs shook in a way only drunks could master. Strange of him to be drinking. The whole palace knew, or rather thought, he did not. 

You quietly sighed, moving forwards to help. You made your steps purposefully loud so as not to spook and he halfway looked up in your direction before stumbling. 

“Do you need assistance, sir?” You put a hand out in offering but could not touch him yet. Touching a noble, even with good intention, was often tricky business. You had to be cautious. 

“N-no,” he stuttered, too focused on not falling flat on his ass to speak. “I am quite…” He trailed off, concentrating again.

The Count took another step forward, incorrectly confident in his execution. He was going down for good this time. You lunged forward to catch him, lest you be blamed for the fall. Your arms wrapped around him, gripping tight and swaying with his momentum slightly, but not falling. Breathing a sigh of relief, you upright yourself and the Count. He looks down in confusion, as if you weren’t supposed to catch him at all, and then back up to you, arms slack and chest pressed against yours while he leans heavily against you. Count Orlo blushes brilliantly, and you immediately move to support him from his side, swinging an arm over your shoulders. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, heaving him more solidly onto his feet.

“Uh-“ his brain short circuited. “Mine?”

You nodded in response, recalling the way there. Huh. He had been going the wrong way. You turn the both of you around, not bothering to mention his mistake, and begin taking steps in the correct direction. You can feel his embarrassment from your side. Both of you walk in silence for a while, the only noise being the shuffling of your shoes. Then he cleared his throat. 

“What is your name?” he asks politely, most likely in conversation, never to remember it afterwards. That's how it worked, even with the nice ones. 

“Y/N. Y/N L/N, sir.” you felt him nod against you. 

“and how is it… in the… in the palace for you?”

He must be joking. You couldn't have heard his stumbled-over-words correctly. You must tread lightly now. Realistic enough that he would believe you, happy enough that he would not have you beaten for treachery.

“I quite enjoy it,” you forced yourself to casually reply. “Serving our beautiful nation is a blessing from God himself and I am thankful every day.” Truthfully, you were thankful your livelihood had been sold to the palace and not a brothel, as was originally planned. 

He huffed a breath out, like he was upset with your answer. Fuck. Redirect, redirect. 

“But never mind me. What do you think, sir?”

“I, among others, think things could be better.”

Jesus. you stopped in your tracks, him swaying forwards. Hearing the Count’s statement alone was enough to have your throat slashed open. He all but admitted to treason in the context of Peter's court. And he still continued.

“Many others actually. We’re planning a coup.”

_ What the fuck.  _ Did he really just admit to this? No wonder the man did not get drunk more often. You could feel his lax stare as your own gaze was fixedly forward. He giggled a little. 

“Ha! Here I am telling you! Someone who could go to Peter as soon as you are done with me! You would be heavily awarded no doubt. If he was attracted to you enough he would even make you a lady of the court.”

This man may be one of Russia’s best intellectuals, but holy fuck was he an idiot. You resumed walking, not even wanting to acknowledge his blunder. His legs tripped over themselves before he righted himself, getting dragged alongside you. Silence again. And finally you had arrived at the Count’s rooms. You nodded to the serf walking this section of the palace and hurriedly escorted the man inside. He let go of you then, stumbling into his apartments. You shut the door behind yourself, standing awkwardly, and following behind him in the -rather large- chance he would fall. He stopped and turned, swaying more than slightly and raising a finger in question. 

“You did hear what I said, right? That wasn’t a figment of my imagination?”

“I have no idea what was said, sir. I’m deaf in my right ear so I heard nothing if you had said anything.”

“Hm,” he took the lie as it was and turned back around, drunkenly stripping himself of his shoes and vest, until he resided only in his tights, pants, and blousy undershirt. You mustn’t stare. He stumbled backwards when attempting to climb his bed. You caught him just in time and lowered him forwards gently. 

“Thanks,” he stared up at you from his sheets, confused and hair wild. As if he wasn’t used to someone helping him. Ridiculous. He had serfs all over he could request aid from.

“Anything else you need?” you asked, knowing you had been away from your station for too long.

“No… g’night…” he mumbled and you knew he was close to sleep. You hesitated. You felt kind of bad just leaving him like this, and so you took the time to move him to his side, propping pillows behind him so as he wouldn’t choke to death on his own vomit. You also poured a glass of water and placed it at his bedside, additionally grabbing a pot and laying it next to him so he had someplace to vomit that wasn’t his own bed. Glancing back at him, his eyes were glazed and staring at you. You had thought he was already asleep. You were wrong. His eyes unknowingly tracked your every move, face flushed, chest calmly taking breaths in and out. The Count looked simultaneously wrecked and put together as if he was just coming down from a mental break. But you supposed he was if he had truly told you what he did. 

Bowing, and muttering a “goodnight, sir” you vacated his rooms, rushing back to the original hallway you found him in. Now you had five hours and twenty minutes to think about all he had told you… too long for your mind to ponder. You began your pacing again, although this time it was less mindless and you crossed your arms in worry. You wondered if he had told anyone else about this. If Velementov was also involved, as that was the most likely place Count Orlo was retreating from. You shook the thought away. You didn’t need to know anymore than you already did.

Truthfully, you did consider the fact that you could turn the Count in and gain special treatment from the Emperor. You would no longer be beaten for dropping silverware, you’d be elevated to a Lady, getting waited on instead of waiting, you could even maybe retire to the countryside, get some chickens, a garden, all of the pryanik you could feast on…

It was a tempting idea and yet you loathed it all the same. It seemed… greedy and vain. And you did not want to become involved in the social blood battle that was the court. Forced to put on more faces than the ones you already possessed, never feeling like you belonged, forced to harm serfs for the enjoyment of the Ladies, and forced to fuck the Emperor if he wished it. You cringed at the thought, moving a hand to rest at your jaw, rubbing. No, you would not tell anyone of what Count Orlo confided. It did no one any good. And there was always the chance something  _ great _ would come of his coup if it wasn’t just the ramblings of a drunk. But you would just sit and wait for that to occur. You weren’t one for violence or leadership. That had been hardwired out of you long ago despite others claiming the traits integral in a Russian. Much like other palace scandals you had encountered, you would simply shut the fuck up and wait to see if anything would happen. 

You nodded with confidence in your decision, mind coming back into worldly focus. The hallway was a deeply saturated blue and you looked outside to find the sun was already rising. Pinks, oranges, and reds emerged as you leaned against a window, taking in the beauty of the world. 

_ Yes, _ you thought,  _ all would be okay. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @thegreatfanblog on tumblr.com

Days went by without a single acknowledgement from Count Orlo. You were slightly hurt, as you had thought he might be different from the other Lords and Ladies of the palace, but altogether you were not surprised. Everything was back to normal and you were frustrated by it. And although you didn’t know what not-normal could be, you longed for it desperately. 

Everything had seemed normal, that is, until about four days after the incident when you found yourself being observed by eight eyes. 

You had taken the late afternoon gardening shift for the week as it often helps you destress. And you hoped to right your sleeping schedule at some point after weeks of the night shift. You missed the sun and pulling weeds from the ground helped you manage your anger in a strange way. Being outside also seemed to heal you like nothing else could.

Until your friend Vera tapped you with grassy hands, motioning over to the shade the palace provided, you hadn’t been aware of any eyes on you, much less that of some of the most influential individuals in the palace. Fuck. What did you do?

“What the fuck did you do?” Vera questioned, vigorously working while you stuttered to a stop. You shook your head in disbelief. 

Empress - _ Empress- _ Catherine stood, head high and dressed ever so elegantly, and staring directly at you, expression curious. On either side of her was Leo Vronsky, a nobleman and the Empress’s lover, and Marial, her handmaid and confidant, a previous Lady of the court. You had only spoke in passing with the former lady, but she seemed like someone you did not want to fuck with. None of them were people you wanted to fuck with. Had you somehow fucked with them? 

On the other side of Marial stood Count Orlo, sober and very nervous it seemed. He wrung his hands together, biting his lip. Ah, now you knew what this was about. As soon as you finished analyzing them, your eyes snapped back towards the ground, locking in on a small weed you had been about to pluck livelihood from before your friend’s gentle tap. You thought of yourself as that weed and the four observing you as yourself. You had accidentally gotten in the way, and this was the end for you. Shaking the thought away, you grasped the weed and tugged, resigned to your fate.

You felt an unfamiliar tap on your shoulder. Leaning backwards onto your heels, you looked into the eyes of Marial, a feral gleam encompassing them. She nudged you and you stood, brushing the dirt from your hands and knees. Feeling small and vulnerable and entirely doomed, you allowed her to lead you towards the other three. Their eyes continued to burn holes through your body. You kept your head down and hands clasped behind your back; their shaking was no use to you. 

“Hello,” a voice that must have been the Empress’s greeted warmly. “It seems like it is your lucky day!”

What the fuck? You kept your head down in submission despite your confusion, keeping deadly still as if you had encountered a hunter. You felt like prey, waiting for a fatal gunshot to wreck through you.

“Count Orlo is in need of a personal assistant and you have been chosen for that job. Isn’t that great?” From your peripheral view, you could see the Empress clasp her hands together in delight as the Count sputtered in surprise. He did not, in fact, need or want an assistant but you bowed towards both of them anyway. Out of fake gratefulness.

“Thank you, Empress,” your head spun in confusion and you felt your eyebrows scrunch with the emotion.

“Alright, now with that settled, Leo and I will be retiring for an eventful afternoon. Marial?” She motioned for the former Lady to follow, retreating back into the palace. You were left alone with the Count. It seemed you would be alone with him more often. He cleared his throat. 

“You can… you can look up, if you’d like.”

You did so, despite the choice and desperately wishing to do otherwise, as it seemed he would prefer you to. You still couldn’t quite look at him, and so you focused on the lower bricks of the palace behind him. He had apparently told the others of his utterance and they were now tasking him to keep an eye on you. Great. Both of you stood awkwardly as he found his words and you waited,  _ not  _ looking at each other.

“A-apologies,” the Count stuttered, adjusting his glasses nervously. You said nothing. There was nothing to apologize for; you were a serf, those above you could do as they pleased and this was the best outcome possible. Another period of silence struck you both. The awkwardness of it all was killing you. It was so outside your normal interaction that you found yourself needing to somehow escape.

“Can we… go somewhere else?” The question was more instinct than conscious thought and he startled slightly.

The Count motioned for you to follow him and into the palace you went. You walked behind him, looking very much like a chastised child caught playing in the garden with your dirt stained hands and dress. He led you down the familiar path to his apartments while both of your brains overworked themselves. What was to happen next?

He moved over to a desk and began shuffling papers. For what you did not know, but it seemed he had forgotten you already and so you quietly stood with your back to the wall, eyes unfocused on anything but the window at the other side of the room. 

“Y/N?” His call drew you back to him, eyes snapping at the book he held in his hands. “Can you read?”

You hesitated, not knowing if it was a test or not, but at his earnest look you relented, nodding, and then adding a “yes, sir,” remembering the last time you addressed a noble nonverbally. You felt the urge to rub at your lower back overwhelm you and you squashed it, taking steps towards the Count at his urgency.

“Here,” he handed you the book, “It’s one of my favorites. Please, just, uh-“ He pointed towards a couch next to his desk.

Why was he making it so awkward? All he had to do was order you around, and yet he was hesitating at the simplest of requests. Your legs found themselves moving despite the lack of explicit request. Count Orlo was still an illusive man to you, a danger until you knew his intentions and how he acted. You knew of him, rumors and gossip, but you did not know him. And it put you on edge, despite the one up you had over him and his… acquaintances with how he had revealed the coup to you. 

You sat quietly on the couch as he took his own place at the desk and began to work. He hadn’t told you what else to do, so you did nothing, again staring blankly but this time at the floorboards. He cleared his throat again. 

“You should… read it?”

There we go. You finally look down at the book in question, taking in its title and author.  _ Passions of the Soul by René Descartes _ . You sighed, quite honestly hating philosophy -why would you read about the realities of your own shitty world when escapism was much more your style?- and opened the book, beginning.  _ Article 1. That what is a Passion with respect to a subject is always an Action in some other respect… _

And like that you were lost in Descartes’s words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @thegreatfanblog on tumblr.com


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight author's note: "your serenity" was used to address counts and marquises

Something shook you lightly and you found yourself groggily sitting up. You moaned, stretching your arms high above your head. As you were sure it had simply been Vera, awaking you for the afternoon gardening shift again. She didn’t understand how you could sleep the day away, but you found dreams preferable to the alternative.   
You rubbed at your eyes, sighing in comfort… comfort? Something was wrong. Deeply, truly wrong. Although you enjoyed sleeping, it had taken you quite some time to accustom yourself to the stone-like qualities of the “beds” the palace provided to serfs, and though you could reach sleep and stay as such… you always woke to an aching back. A painfully aching back that made it so Vera had to help you out of bed many mornings. Why wasn’t it that way?   
A voice cleared awkwardly. **Fuck**.  
Your eyes shot open and you took in the man in front of you, coming to a realization of what occurred. Your legs were arrogantly folded under you, and your face pressed against the tall side of the elongated chair. You had fallen asleep, reading a book you had been ordered to read by your new master, and did so despite the timid nature of his request. You shot to the floor, turning towards him with your legs again folded under you, and your head bowed.   
“Apologies, Count Orlo,” you mumbled, burning a hole through the wood of the floorboards. How it wasn’t on fire already, you weren’t sure. “If you would just fetch a guard I would be more than happy to take whatever punishment you deemed fit, my serenity.”  
You heard nothing, and you caught yourself from flinching as the tension grew. Silent anger made sense for him, in retrospect. Those were always the worst ones to deal with. And now you had to deal with him. Every day. **Fuck**.  
“ _Fuck_ -no-sorry!” he finally stuttered, panicked. You waited again as he took deep breaths. “I’m not going to hurt you. I-I’m not him.”  
Jesus. More treasonous words from this man. You supposed he couldn’t have said much worse than the previous admission of a coup. It unsettled you nonetheless.  
“Please,” he patted the space beside him, his voice desperate. “I think we need to… come to an agreement on how this will work.”   
You did as he asked, settling again on the lavish couch that was most certainly thrice your own worth. And that was being generous. You tried not to think of such things as he pulled a notepad and quill into his hands, leaving the ink pot at the edge of the desk, still in reach. He wet the quill in ink.  
“What… do you usually do?”  
You paused, thinking of it all.  
“This week I’m on gardening duty…” you hesitantly began and he nodded, urging you on “I help the kitchen as well, clean up glass when needed, wait on the Court… I also take the night shift a fair amount…”  
He already knew the last one, his facial features twitching as his face colored in shame. You winced, not meaning to remind him.  
“I’m so-“  
He waved it off, attempting to seem absentminded, but you knew he did not want to discuss it. Your mouth clicked shut. He wrote your words down nonetheless.  
“What do you like to do?”  
 _??????_ was all you managed to think at his question. No words. Just blind confusion. A moment went by of this, then your body decided to move, face turning sharply towards him, as if it was a joke. The Count’s eyes remained trained on the paper before him, staring pointedly at the words written. Not a joke then. You hoped.   
You looked straight forward, eyebrows pressed inwards at the complexity of your thoughts. You finally opened your mouth.   
“I… like to read…”  
He scribbled it down and waited for more.   
“And I like to garden, and bake, and draw, and… I enjoy walking on the grounds.”  
You shut up after that, not knowing if it was safe to go on, nor what else you could possibly say. If he had noticed that a good chunk of your likes were your day to day serfdom activities, he did not comment. It was all you knew.   
The Count finished, dotting a period down and moving the quill to rest against his lower lip. Not that you were looking.   
“Excellent…” he trailed off, eyes catching an open door across the room. He abruptly colored and looked away, beginning to mumble something out of your hearing range.   
“I’m sorry, my serenity,” you hoped you were not interrupting, “I cannot hear your words.”  
Count Orlo took a moment and a deep breath, greedy with his time. He sighed.  
“Catherine-“ he spoke her name familiarly “-has apparently emptied out what is supposed to be my personal assistant’s rooms -I have never taken one- which I assume is an unsubtle push to move you there as soon as possible.”   
Oh…? You weren’t aware something like that was possible, however you assumed that whatever Russian ruler created the Count’s position knew the demands of the job, thus allowing for a personal assistant to be close at all hours. The fact that Count Orlo hadn’t already utilized this was lost to you. This cover that his -accomplices, your mind interjected- friends helpfully provided made you even more lost than the before statement. You could have been his personal serf. Many had them in the palace, and it would make a lot more sense than a woman as his personal assistant. Women were maids, cooks, whores, mothers, not capable of intellect. Maybe they had known the Count would not have been willing to take direct ownership of you, hiding behind the Emperor’s oppression to placate his own willful ignorance that he had _all_ of the power in this exchange. He was a fucking Count. He could have you shipped off, whored out, whipped, strangled, tortured, burnt alive, even outright murdered, and all were well within his rights as your “new” master. Then again… these thoughts did nothing to improve your current situation, so you let them go.   
Count Orlo stared at you, then turned embarrassed at being caught doing so. You suspected you had been lost in thought for a rude amount of time. You nodded at him to go on.   
“We should gather your things and get you situated by tonight, apologies,” again, he spoke with awkwardness. You didn’t know what to do with it, and so you shrugged. It wasn’t like you had a say in all of this. You had been surprised they even allowed you to live, much less make you into a personal assistant.  
He stood to escort you out, placing his notes back onto the desk and starting for the door, pausing to explicitly motion for you to follow. He was learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> history fact: apparently the titles of count and baron were introduced by peter the great and could either mean they had land, or simply had this title to signify their importance to the emperor.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! obvi am swamped with school and other shit oof cannot promise i will be any quicker but i am still working on all my unfinished things and others as well! thank you :)

Count Orlo led you to the apartment doors, holding them open and motioning you to step through. When he didn’t bid you a hasty farewell, as he obviously longed to do, you grew confused. And when he stepped out of the rooms after you, soundly shutting the door, you were downright lost.

Oh fuck… he didn’t intend to…?

“Right,” the Count began, straightening his vest. “Lead the way.”

You paled in realization. He was going to follow you into the serf quarters; a place you never willingly step into yourself, much less bring a nobleman into. This would not go over well. Not at all. But again, the choice wasn’t yours, and so you reluctantly led him towards your doom, frantically trying to settle your racing heart.

It was, undoubtedly, a rough start to your acquaintanceship, but you supposed smoothness went out the door the moment you forgot yourself and dozed off… or when the Count had been drunk enough to admit to treason. 

None of your business, you silently berated yourself. You wrung your hands together.   
With each step towards your living arrangement you grew slightly more settled in what would occur... which was a huge fucking mistake. Once across the threshold, the Count grimaced at every turn, finding wretchedness everywhere he laid his eyes. One door had a couple openly fucking, another held an older woman shitting, and another a grown man was receiving a sponge bath, his mumps and dirtiness on full display to the Count. No one cared either; he had entered serf territory, so he couldn’t have been too surprised at it all. You all knew how those “above” felt about you, might as well indulge if they were to think it anyways. You felt outright embarrassed at having to bring him here, and the excuses made it only slightly more tolerable. Not by much, though. After a while you got used to it all, but showing someone who hadn’t experienced the same was… fucking horrifying. It made you feel sickly. And yet, you trudged on, unwilling to disobey a direct order. Your cheeks still seared from embarrassment, body betraying your attempt at no emotion.   
You praised whatever entity watching for making your room closer to the beginning of the quarters, unwilling to think about what horrors Count Orlo would have been subjected to in the deeper areas. That had been slightly too much, even for you. 

You knocked, waiting to hear Vera’s familiar greeting -“fuck off!”- and when nothing occurred, you all but shoved him through the door, swiftly shutting it. You immediately set off to ignore what he had seen completely. Keeping your eyes to the piss soaked floorboards, you searched for what little things you had before returning to where the Count awkwardly stood, trying very hard not to touch anything while not letting on his disgust. You need to get him out of here. Now. 

He nodded eagerly at your swiftness as he floundered to act normal. Without much thought, you grabbed his arm, leading him much like the first night you had encountered him, albeit more rapidly. Much more rapidly. Count Orlo could do little else but be guided by your hand, scrunching his eyes shut every now and then to take advantage of your leadership.

You slowed as you both returned to the bustle of the beautiful, pristine, palace. Though the same debauchery could be found here, it was evenly spread out, unlike the cramped conditions of the serfs quarters. Perhaps this is why it was more of a shock… but you were making excuses again.

Crossing the border between “safe” and “unsafe”, you dropped the Counts hand as if it burned. He floundered. 

“It’s-I don’t-“ he cut off, unknowing of how he would finish. You looked down, and made yourself smaller, pressing your legs together and bowing your head.

“Apologies, my serenity.”

He looked like he wanted to argue but you shook your head, motioning to the long hallway ahead: “If you would take the lead?”

The Count hesitated, eyes following your motion and then resting on you. An uncomfortable beat of silence passed and you mentally urged him to drop it. He noticed this, wordlessly nodding and setting off. You followed, a step behind him and to the right. Exhaling deeply, you were glad at the return of propriety and not having to discuss what you both had experienced. 

You let out a deep breath and pretended to not notice his questioning glance, following him throughout the winding hallways back to his apartments. The silence soothed you until it vanished within thin air. Right as the door closed behind you both, the Count began his ramblings again.

“If you would just follow me to where you will be living from now on” -as if he hadn’t already shown you the door to the quarters- “let me know if you need anything -anything at all!- and I will obtain it for you. You know-”

Your brain shut off at that point, eyes snapping to where he cracked open the door. It was… gorgeous. The floor was a rich brown, the walls a sparse white, and there was a small window in the wall directly in front of you. The room was small, smaller than the one you and Vera shared, but it was yours. That was something you hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Without your consent, tears began to well up, a few slipping down your face. You hastily rubbed at them, which drew the Count's attention. Fuck.

“Oh! Are you…?”

You shook your head, hiding your face with both hands and taking shaky breaths. Calm. You must be calm. You moved your body away from him, trying your best to remain silent. Moments passed awkwardly with the Count looking at the ceiling in response, unaware of where it was appropriate to look.

As soon as you gained control over yourself, you rushed to reply.

“Apologies, my serenity,” your cheeks and nose felt ruddy from the emotional outburst. “It will not happen again.”

He opened his mouth, looking to reply with something all too open and honest for you to handle. You did not want to answer any unwanted questions. If they escaped his mouth, you would have to.

“I’m-”

“This room!” you were slightly louder than expected, making you flinch at yourself. “It’s gorgeous, thank you for graciously allowing me to live here, my serenity.”

The Count nodded confusedly, motioning vaguely and tearing his eyes from your mussed appearance. 

“Yes, well-” he stuttered to keep up, backing towards the exit. “Please unpack, and make any needs of yours known.”

You hurried to nod in response, attempting to smile, though from his more than slightly worried expression, it was a weak one in reality. He stared at you a moment longer before hastily nodding and exiting, quickly shutting the door following his stead. 

Your entire body relaxed, posture worsening and muscles releasing, heaving a great sigh of relief. Hopefully it was not audible to the Count… what a strange man.

Shaking your head, you began to unpack, refolding the limited items in your possession.

**Author's Note:**

> @thegreatfanblog on tumblr.com


End file.
